After the Horse-fair
A MULE, the snowball of a beast! (Ring out the duros, test the tune) And a guitar, the midnight lark. That rises silvering the dark An hour before the rosy-fleeced Arrival of the Moon.
The gypsies quarried from the gloom, For their carouse, a silver hall: And jingled harness filled the lands With gay pesetas changing hands, So silvery, there seemed no room For any moon at alL
Two figtrees on a whitewashed wall Were playing chess; a lamp was queen: Beneath the civil guard were seen With tricorned hats—a game of cards; One bottle was between them all, Good health, and kind regards.
A stable with an open door
And in the yard a dying hound:
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